This is a living room just like any other.
Peculiarized just like any other.
With a framed print of Redon flowers
and a plastic red pepper wall clock.
Last night she ate at Norms (egg sandwich,
Pepsi, clam chowder), drew daisies
and rats on the placemat while Llovio
ate pancakes next to her in the booth,
his face making the word scrofula
with each bite. She watched the pies
in rotation, happy to be real and present
on Pico Boulevard. Her socks have
ribs down the folds, a rough white cotton
against her ankles. The discount silk flowers
say this is happening somewhere (for real:
the imaginary hum of a refrigerator, slipping
socks on the couch.) Demi-mondes scallop
her bulges. Sweet Teen Fucked. Blond Girl
Nailed. She had ordered a meal last night,
combed her hair in the ladies’ room.